


The Happiest Accident

by thatjohnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: A thousand tags...!!, Alternate Universe, Bromance to Romance, Domestic, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Parent!lock, Parentlock, parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:09:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatjohnlock/pseuds/thatjohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They weren't a couple, and they didn't want to be parents.<br/>Both of those things change after a huge mistake was made.<br/>Or...was it ever really a mistake in the first place? </p><p>(A parent!lock fic with tons of domestic shenanigans. What else could you expect with these two guys raising a baby? <3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Misplaced Parcel

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> So...this happened? I think. I wrote this fic because my friend was talking about domestic fics and different ways that people become parents (they mentioned storks). 
> 
> And, I thought 'how would John and Sherlock become parents?' and then this happened. 
> 
> I'm not sure how long this story will end up being. Nor am I sure how often I can update (my computer is still broken so...that's a thing. I'm typing on a desktop computer from the BC era...so it's annoying and slow. Also, my access to it is limited sooo!!). 
> 
> I can talk a lot, can't I? Alright. Go read these two children trying to raise a baby. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!  
> ~TJL
> 
> PS, I might also change the summary. I'm just really bad at summaries, ok? <3

            It was 3AM, and for once, Sherlock wasn’t too proud to admit he was exhausted. He, quite obnoxiously, repeatedly reminded John of the fact that he was tired. John only turned away from him in the back of the cab and tried to shut his eyes and catch a bit of sleep before they returned to Baker Street, and once they were back at 221B, John was going to crash onto the couch. He didn’t even feel like he could bring himself to go all the way up to his own bedroom. Neither of them had had any sleep in over 48 hours, probably longer for Sherlock. The case wasn’t finished, not nearly so. But, Lestrade had sent them home because they were looking  and acting like zombies. Sherlock didn’t want to leave, so John had to drag him out and nag him into calling them a cab.

            When they arrived at Baker Street, John tossed money at the driver and slugged out of the cab, Sherlock following him out of the vehicle.

            “Oh my god, I can’t believe how happy I am to see this place.” John comments as he unlocks the door and heads inside. Sherlock was however, displeased.

            “I am going to sleep for approximately eight hours to please you.” The detective says, pulling off his gloves as they stand in the downstairs foyer, talking lowly as if he was concerned about disturbing Mrs. Hudson. “Then, I will immediately rise and leave to finish investigating.”

            John just blinks tiredly at him. “I honestly couldn’t give a shit right now if I tried, Sherlock.” He wasn't being rude, this was just John being John. He turns and begins walking up the stairs. “I can’t even remember what you just said.” He calls over his shoulder.

            “Hush, before you wake Mrs. Hudson!” He calls back, too tired to notice that he as well is shouting. Sherlock is about to follow him up the stairs to their flat when the door to Mrs. Hudson’s opens. The sleep deprived detective waves sloppily at her, he may as well just’ve been drunk. He looks as much. “Sorry, Mrs. Hudson. John isn’t on his best behaviour I’m afraid. Did we wake you?”

            “Sherlock, while you and John were out, a p-parcel arrived and-“ She begins but Sherlock cuts her off by yawning loudly.

            “Can it wait until the morning? I don’t have the patience to-“

            “I really don’t think it could wait, love.” Mrs. Hudson laces her fingers together. “Why didn’t you tell me that you and John were-“

            “Were what?” Sherlock’s brow furrows. “Is the parcel a bomb? Why is it so urgent?”

            “No, god _no_. Not a bomb, but-“

            “Then it could wait, I’m sure.” Sherlock waves a hand at her, then begins climbing the stairs. “Sleep well, Mrs. Hudson.” And with that, he is gone.

~*~

            John slept for ten hours, waking to afternoon sunlight shining in his eyes. He grimaces, feels as if he’s got a hangover, though he’s had nothing to drink. With a groan, he heaves himself into a seated position on the sofa. The throw blanket is draped over him, but he doesn’t remember doing it. And, it probably wasn’t Sherlock. So, Mrs. Hudson has been up there. That much was evident once he noticed the mug of (now cold) tea sitting on the coffee table in front of him. However, beside the mug was a note. His brow furrowed as he picked it up.

            _Urgent, please see me! –Mrs. H_

            With as much urgency as he could muster, having just woken up from a dead-like sleep, he storms downstairs. He walks into Mrs. Hudson’s never-locked flat door and steps inside.

            “Mrs. Hudson?” He calls into the flat, the kitchen is empty, but he can hear her singing in the living room. Why didn’t she respond to him? “Is everything alright?” He walks through the kitchen and into the sitting room where the sound of her voice was coming from. “I found your note. Are you alright? What’s wr-“ John stops in his tracks.

            In the living room, Mrs. Hudson is sitting with a small bundle in her arms. She’s rocking the bundle gently and singing soft words to it. When the doctor enters the room, the older woman smiles at him gently, and nods her head to the sofa, inviting him to sit. But, John is frozen. Why does Mrs. Hudson have a baby? Is it a grandchild of hers? But…she doesn’t have children. Does that mean that-

            “Have a seat, John.” Mrs. Hudson stops singing and speaks to him softly, as not to disturb the small infant she’s holding.

            “Baby?” John doesn’t sit, but clenches and unclenches a hand at his side. He points to the tiny bundle in the woman’s arms. “My god, you’ve got a baby?”

            “Not me.” She chuckles, looking from John and back to the child. “Why didn’t you and Sherlock tell me?”

            “Tell…you, uh, what?” John finally moves across the room and sits on the proffered sofa. “My god…that baby is small. Is it full term? Storks don’t usually bring premature babies.”

            “You two should’ve told me that you were nesting. I would’ve helped.” Mrs. Hudson rises slowly from her seat.

            “Nesting?” John frowned in confusion. “We’re not nesting…we’re not even a couple. Why would we nest?”

            “What?” Mrs. Hudson continues rocking the baby once she’s standing.

            “That baby isn’t ours – or, the bird made the wrong stop…because Sherlock and I aren’t a couple, as I keep reminding everyone. Nor are we nesting. There’s no where to nest, both bedrooms are taken.”

            “So…” The woman looks down at the baby in her arms. “This baby isn’t…but, I thought…”

            “It has to be a mistake.” John shakes his head, watching as the baby’s tiny body flexes and its hands and feet are kicked and lightly swung in protest. “Where are the documents it came with?”

            “Still in the basket.” She motions towards the kitchen, the basket was resting on the kitchen table. John had been in such a rush that he hadn’t even _noticed_ the basket.

            After rubbing a hand over his slightly stubbly jaw, he pushes himself up off the couch and pads into the kitchen. The basket itself wasn’t very large, off-white wicker frame and brass handle. The inside was padded all around and there was a small ribbon-tied scroll inside as well. With a hesitant hand, John reaches for it and unrolls it carefully.

 

>             Congratulations to: **DR. John Watson** and **DET. Sherlock Holmes**
> 
>             **Baby** : Boy
> 
>             **DOB** : 4 MAY
> 
>             **Health** : Excellent
> 
>             **Weight** : Normal, 6lbs 8oz

 

            The doctor rubs a hand over his face again in disbelief. So, what? He and Sherlock were just parents now? This was absolutely ridiculous! A bloody mistake that _had_ to be fixed!

            “We didn’t even nest!” John exclaims, still holding the document in his hand.

            “What was that, dear?” Mrs. Hudson walks out of the living room, into the kitchen.

            “There is absolutely _no reason_ in the entire world, that Sherlock and I should be parents. What is the bloody return policy on babies? Because, we didn’t want this! Well, I can’t speak for Sherlock, but this is _not_ what I wanted.” John is staring and the baby in her arms. It, well, _he_ is wrapped in a pastel yellow blanket, a yellow hat covering dark hair. The baby’s face was rosy and new. He looks like Sherlock, sort of. The tiny bow mouth and the dark hair. But, maybe John is just imagining that the baby looks like Sherlock. Because, babies sometimes don’t look much like anyone when they’re this new. The little thing was just born yesterday.

            “Are you _sure_ that you two haven’t been nesting?” Mrs. Hudson ignores John’s small outburst…because he’s now looking at the baby like it’s the most enchanting thing. Though, John isn’t aware that his eyes are lingering on the newborn. “Storks only bring babies to happy couples who nest.”

            “I keep telling _all of you_ , that I’m not…Sherlock and I really aren’t a couple.” John sighs after saying it for the millionth time. “Truly, Mrs. Hudson, we aren’t.”

            “But, you’re happy?”

            “What?”

            “You two are always together, and you’re happy with each other.” She looks down at the baby as it yawns, opening it’s blue eyes for only a moment before they shut again. “Maybe the stork got confused and-“

            “How often does this happen?” John points to the empty basket on the table. “How many times does a stork just _assume_ that two people are a couple because they enjoy each other’s company?” He arches a brow in mock inquiry. “That’s bollocks and it can’t happen that often. Otherwise, there’d be frequent reports of it happening.”

            “John, _language_!” She scolds.

            “There has to be a return policy.” John stands at attention. “I need to talk to Sherlock. But…he’s not upstairs.”

            “Is he not?”

            “Unlikely, he said that he was going to continue working on the case when he woke up. No doubt he’s gone. I’ll…just shoot him a quick text.” John says, glancing at the baby again before walking out of Mrs. Hudson’s flat and taking a seat at the bottom of the stairs.

            What the hell do you text someone in this situation? John can’t just say ‘Oh, while you are out, could you grab some milk? Not for us, for the baby that was just accidentally dropped off while we were out yesterday. Also, could you grab a cot, some nappies and infant clothing – yes, Sherlock they make clothes for babies. Did I mention that we’re suddenly _parents_?’  

            He couldn’t just say that to Sherlock. And, there is no way that Sherlock would think that John was being serious. Maybe John shouldn't text Sherlock. He should maybe contact Mycroft. Surely, Mycroft knew what do with an accidental stork delivery. If the baby couldn’t be returned, maybe they could just put it up for adoption. For some reason, the idea of putting the baby up for adoption, felt worse than just returning it. But…that’s what would happen to the baby if they gave it back to the stork, wouldn’t it? The stork makes babies ‘custom’ for the couples, mixing both of their genes to create them. Therefore, the baby currently in Mrs. Hudson’s flat, was a biological mixture of John and Sherlock. _Oh god_.

            “I should honestly sue them.” John deadpans. “Reproducing offspring of two people who didn’t ask for it should be illegal or something.” He sighs as he stares at his mobile, unsure of who to call or what to do. “We don’t have _anything_ for a baby. No food, no clothes, no nappies, not even a bloody cot. What are we supposed to do with it? We haven’t nested!”

            He sets the phone down on the steps beside him and holds his face in his hands. John suddenly looks up and gasps.

            “Mycroft knows.” He says aloud as he picks up his phone and dials the older Holmes brother’s number, listening to it ring. “He bloody knows, doesn’t he?” He waits for the call to be picked up.

            “Congratulations, Dr. Watson. Do give the same congratulations to my brother as well.” Mycroft answers the phone with this, instead of a hello.

            “What do _you_ have to do with this?” John hisses. “This isn’t funny! You can’t just-"

            “John, what on _Earth_ are you going on about?” The ginger man frowns. “You think that I’ve got something to do with this?”

            “You saw the parcel being delivered to us via the CCTV, yeah?” John inquires.

            “Well, yes.” Mycroft nods, though John can’t see it. “Still, a warning would’ve been polite.”

            “What?”

            “I knew you were fond of my brother, and I also am aware that a proper marriage might not be…your style…however…if you could’ve told me that you were nesting, I could’ve…sent you two a token or something.” Mycroft sounds a bit out of character with his uncertainty of how to express what he wishes to say. “Anyway, how is the child? Does he look like a Holmes or a Watson?”

            “I think he looks more like Sh-“ John shakes his head to keep his thoughts on trakck. “Wait a minute, you didn’t know about…the…?”

            “What?”

            “You didn’t do this?”

            “Dr. Watson, why or – _how_ could I send you a child? You can’t just order a baby up and have it sent to your friends.”

            “I bet _you_ could.” John accuses.

            “I did no such thing.” Mycroft tilts his chin up. “I dislike babies. They’re messy, smelly and drooly. Not to mention noisy and…just unpleasant for many reasons. I surely wouldn’t give such a distraction to my brother.”

            “Distraction?”

            “Babies take up time, money, and do terrible things to the mind.” Mycroft continues. “They cause sleep deprivation and take a person off course from what they were previously doing in life. I would hate to see my brother cease his remarkable brain activity in order to…spend his years wrist deep in feces and babbling ‘baby talk’ to an underdeveloped human.”

            John blinks, dumbfounded for a few moments, now even more terrified of keeping this child than before. “So…c-can we send it back?”

            “Send what back where?”

            “The baby…we can send it back, right?” John can hear the baby crying in Mrs. Hudson’s flat now.

            “Absolutely not.” Mycroft shakes his head. “Stork birds only _bring_ the babies. I’ve never heard of them taking them back. You could always…get rid of it another way.”

            “You mean-“

            “Yes, adoption.” Mycroft clears his throat. “What does Sherlock have to say about all of this? I’m sure he’s not thrilled. The CCTV cameras showed him storming out of 221B this morning.”

            “No, uh, he’s on a case.” John replies.

            “So soon? Already leaving you with the baby?”

            “He doesn’t know about it yet…I don’t think.”

            “You’ve not told him?” Mycroft sounds shocked.

            “We came in late last night, and Mrs. Hudson didn’t tell us about the baby.” John explains. “Just recently, I came downstairs because she’d left a note for me. And…I just saw the baby there.”

            “Oh…” Is all Mycroft says.

            “I called you first, before I tried to contact Sherlock about it because…I thought or even _hoped_ that this was something you’d done. So, I could just push the blame on you and make you return the parcel.”

            “I see…” Mycroft is sounding more and more distant. “Well, no, as I have stated…I’ve  absolutely _nothing_ to do with this.”

            “Yes, I know.”

            “Well then, Dr. Watson…what now?” Mycroft asks. “If you’d like, I could tell Sherlock for you.”

            “No!” John exclaims without meaning to. The idea of having to sit and wait for Sherlock to come home after Mycroft tells him, made John scared. What if Sherlock just decided to not come home at all? Would he run away from this? Away from the baby…and from John? “I’ll tell him myself.” At least then, it would feel more personal…and maybe because of that, Sherlock would react to the news better. “This…this baby is ours. And, though I’m terrified of it…unprepared and unready…the baby is his as well. Hell, he might even want to keep it. I doubt it…but, I can’t panic about this on my own. I need Sherlock.”

            “Yes.”

            “I mean, I need him to…” John pauses to gather his thoughts. “We just need to talk about this together.”

            “Yes.” Mycroft says again. “Well, good luck and congratulations. Whatever you decide to do, I hope you two make the right decision.”

            John hesitates, because saying ‘thank you’ would make everything feel too real, for some reason. It would make John feel like he really does have an important decision to make. And, that there really is a baby in Mrs. Hudson’s flat that…is really a part of him…and a part of Sherlock. That, their DNA, their genes have combined into an actual living thing. _Oh god_. All of those things are true, and those things are incredible, but terrifying. So, John has no choice but to thank Mycroft.

            “Um, thank you.” John says, not very gracefully and his voice gives out on the last syllable. But, Mycroft only chuckles.

            “Of course.” Mycroft replies, pausing before speaking again. “Oh, and, John?”

            “Yes?”

            “Is the baby a boy or a girl?” Mycroft asks, the amount of curiosity in his voice is…humbling.

            “A boy, according to the document.” John gives a small laugh. “Though, I haven’t bothered to check yet.”

            The two men share a laugh, then say goodbye.

            But…what the hell is John going to say to Sherlock about this? Will Sherlock be as terrified as John? Sherlock wouldn’t want to keep this baby…would he? Also, why the _hell_ did the stork do _this_? This has got to be the biggest mistake ever made in the _world_.


	2. "We're Parents, Yeah?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> I got a bit carried away...! The first chapter was only 2K+ words, and this chapter is over 6K words!  
> But, I was worried about when I could get to update next, and it turns out I could update right away :D  
> I'm happy to have such a quick update. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> As Always,  
> Thanks for reading!  
> ~TJL

            Lestrade watched Sherlock work, paying close attention to every move that Sherlock made, because _damn_ , the young detective made it look so easy. Sherlock could feel the DI watching, but didn’t mind. He enjoyed an audience, but…he could almost _feel_ the pressure caused by the gears in Lestrade’s brain moving, clunking and rattling with age and stupidity.

            “Stop it, for god’s sake.” Sherlock grumbled to the silver haired man before pulling on latex gloves.

            Lestrade looked behind himself to see if someone was doing something. But after, noting that they were in the room alone, as Sherlock had requested. That meant that…oh.

            “What? I haven’t done anything.” Lestrade folded his arms defensively at Sherlock.

            “Don’t make me say it.” Sherlock breathed the words along with a sigh.

            “Say what?”

            “You’re thinking, and it’s…?”

            “…Annoying.” Lestrade finished the sentence, nearly pouting at himself.

            “There we go.” Sherlock nodded and stood upright. He had been looking at the mantle closely with his magnifying glass, wearing gloves because the mantle had splatters of blood on it, amongst the family photos and so on.

            “So, anything?” Lestrade is ready to add something to the list of many notes he’s take on his notepad.

            “These flecks of blood suggest that they were sprayed like this because the attack happened…from above…but…why?” Sherlock tilted his head back to look up, Lestrade did the same.

            “From…above?” The DI looked doubtful. “I don’t understand.”

            “Clearly.” Sherlock lowered his head again. “If I don’t understand, I couldn’t imagine that you would.”

            “I’ve been steps ahead of you before.” Lestrade followed Sherlock as the taller man began moving quickly from the crime scene.

            “Yes, and at those times I was heavily sedated by a small dominatrix woman, a bad cabbie, or myself.” Sherlock picked up his coat from where it was hanging in the foyer. “I have many new clues, and my list of eight possible ideas of what’s happened here is now down to a list of four.”

            “Hm, lowered the list by half?” Greg nods approvingly. “Fast work as always.”

            “Quite.” Sherlock says instead of thank you, and he directs his vision downward as he feels his mobile jitter is his pocket from a new text message. Lestrade has gone to read his notes to the rest of the team, so Sherlock is left to alone to be able to check the message.

            His brow furrows as he reads the message, it’s from John and it simply says: _We need to talk_. For some reason, Sherlock feels nervousness swim in his stomach, and he becomes annoyed as his body betrays him, reacting to emotions. Ugh, _emotions_.

            Sherlock types a response to John, _Why must we talk, and what about? –SH_

            With the message sent, Sherlock leaves the crime scene and begins his trek to hail a cab, once inside it, he reads another text message from John, a reply.

            _It’s just…something has happened and it needs discussing_ , John has said. Sherlock rolls his eyes in the back of the cab.

            _I do hate it when you try to be mysterious and vague. Just tell me what has happened. –SH_

            Once the detective has typed the message, he leans his head back against the headrest, surprised by how quickly John responds this time.

            _I don’t want to text about it_ , is the doctor’s explanation.

            _Then, why message me in the first place? –SH_

            _I wanted to know how long it was until you’re home_ , says John.

            _On my way now. –SH_

 _How much longer, then?_ John asks.

            _Half hour. –SH_

            _See you soon._ Is the last thing John says, because Sherlock doesn’t respond to that. He simply leans his head back again and wonders what John needs to talk about. His messages didn’t seem _urgent_ , though the messages did seem quite serious. If John was really in danger or something…he wouldn’t text. And, if he did, he’d type ‘Vatican Cameos’, right?

Sherlock hated feeling doubt. But, he even more hated feeling fear and worry. What was there to be afraid of? John had said that ‘something happened’  and…that _something_ could be many things. But, what were the logical possibilities?

            Maybe John caught the kitchen afire while cooking. Or…maybe this has to do with Mrs. Hudson. But, why would they need to _discuss_ either of those things? Can John not afford to pay for the damages to the kitchen fire? If Mrs. Hudson is ill or…has passed on (pray not)…would they need to discuss moving out from the flat? Or would…they need to discuss arranging a funeral? Couldn’t her sisters do that?

            _Discuss_ …Sherlock ran the word around in his head, noting the word’s synonyms, antonyms and its lingual origin. None of them made the word less intimidating, when used by John in this way.

            All Sherlock could do was hope that everything was alright, though…hoping didn’t help or fix anything.

~*~

            The cab stopped outside of 221B, and Sherlock almost didn’t want to get out. But, he paid the cab driver and listened to the vehicle take off. Judging by the sounds the car was making, it’ll need to go get the engine checked in approximately 3.6 days before the vehicle gave out…

            And, the fact that Sherlock was deducing a _cab_ , made it even more obvious that he’d rather dwell on _anything_ else, instead of what might be awaiting for him in the flat.

Wait – what if…something had happened…and _John_ needed to move out immediately. What if his drunken sister needed taking care of or a kidney? Sherlock could find her a kidney no problem and he wasn’t going to subject John to going under the knife and moving out to care for her. She’d go right back to the drink anyway and ruin the new kidney.

            Sherlock paced outside on the sidewalk, accidentally bumping into a young man, and saying sorry when the stranger cursed and told Sherlock to watch where he was going. The detective continued to pace outside until he heard the slide of a window opening and a familiar voice call his name.

            He turned his head to look up and see John’s little mug peeking out from a window in their flat.

            “What the hell are you doing?” John offered him a smile. It was a good sign that smoke didn’t come erupting from the open window.

            “There’s not been a fire?” Sherlock calls up to John, and the doctor’s smile turns into a unsure frown.

            “Did you start it?” John asks, and Sherlock chuckles.

            “No.”

            “Well, then no fire.”

            “Good, then.” Sherlock says and watches as John’s face goes a bit more serious.

            “We need to talk, can you come up?”

            Sherlock took a breath of London air, wishing it was an inhale of cigarette smoke instead. “I’ll be right there.”

~*~

            John was standing at parade rest by the window, not having moved since opening it to call down to Sherlock. When Sherlock entered the living room, standing cautiously still relatively in the doorway, John reached and closed the window. John slowly turned to face Sherlock, but his eyes were on the floor as he took on parade rest again.

            “What’s…happened, John?” Sherlock isn’t sure whether to sound sympathetic, or normal. But, for some reason, sounding normal didn’t really work out because his voice had shrunken five times, now small with nervousness. Again, _damn_ is body for reacting to emotions against his will.

            John looked at Sherlock now, and was surprised to see how the younger man was standing. Arms folded in front of himself like a shield, incase what John was going to say would hurt him. Standing on the sides of his feet like a confronted child. Eyebrows knit and bottom lip held between his teeth. It warmed and broke John’s heart at the same time to see Sherlock looking so vulnerable.

            “Oh…Sherlock, come here.” John didn’t bring his arms from behind him, so Sherlock wasn’t sure _why_ he was being called closer. John didn’t have his arms open like he was going to give a hug, and…John didn’t usually give him hugs. If he _had_ offered Sherlock a hug, it would’ve been a sign that maybe something bad had happened. Because, well, they just didn’t hug.

            Once the distance between them had closed to just a few feet apart, John studies Sherlock’s face again. The detective looked so much younger with this expression, and John had to remember that Sherlock wasn’t the one that they…sort of needed to be caring for right now. John took a deep breath.

            “Alright, this isn’t easy to say.” John clears his throat and looks away from Sherlock again. “But, we have a decision to make.”

            “Are we moving?”

            “Um…” John hadn’t actually thought about that. They didn’t really have a…baby friendly flat. Dead body parts about, chemicals and lab equipment. Both bedrooms were taken up. Would Mrs. Hudson mind them having a noisy baby in the flat? She’d rented it out to two single men, not a family. _Would_ they…have to move? “I don’t…think so.”

            “Oh…” Sherlock’s brow only furrows more. “Could you just tell me? I hate waiting and guessing games.”

            “Fine, right. I know you don’t like those sort of things…I hadn’t meant to make this into a game. Sorry.”

            “Needn’t apologize…but, just…please, John?”

            “Yes, alright.” John musters up some of his soldier-brand of courage and looked up into Sherlock’s face. “Sherlock, we have a baby.”

            John watches Sherlock’s face intently. Sherlock’s face changes expressions several times, and his mouth forms several words but none are actually spoken. When Sherlock finally speaks, John expects him to be alarmed, frightened, or even angry. But, no. He just _snorts_.

            “No we don’t, John.” Is Sherlock’s disbelieving response.

            John’s mouth falls open, before it shuts and he frowns, determined to get Sherlock to believe him. “Sherlock…we _do_.”

            “No…we don’t.” And then, Sherlock raises his eyebrows. “ _Oh_ …is this what I think it is?”

            John crinkles his nose as if Sherlock’s nonsense has a bad smell. “Pardon?”

            “You’re a month and nearly a week late, John.”

            “For…what?”

            “I had gifted you with an April Fool’s Day prank, last month.” Sherlock reminds him. “This is your retaliation?”

            John’s brain takes a moment to catch up, but when it does, he groans. “No, Sherlock! Though, I still want to give your arse a swift kick for that.”

            “You were complaining about having sand in your bum for two weeks.” Sherlock began laughing. “The ‘prank’ took no longer than five minutes in your pants drawer to set up, but I got two weeks of fun out of it. I used to prank Mycroft when we were kids, but I must say that pranking you was much easier and _loads_ more fun.”

            “This isn’t a bloody prank, Sherlock!” John can’t keep his voice down anymore, because yelling is the only thing that could wipe that smirk off Sherlock’s face.

            Sherlock frowns at John for literally two minutes straight before speaking again.

            “You’re serious.” He states.

            “Yes.”

            The detective glances around the flat. “I don’t understand.”

            “Neither do I.”

            “You and I both know where babies come from.” Sherlock points a hand at John. “Did you nest?”

            “No.”

            “Positive?”

            “Why the fucking hell would I nest??” John throws his hands up. “I have no reason to prepare a nursery!”

            “We’ve been living here together for a few years now John…”

            “I’ve noticed.”

            “And…if you brought a woman here who you might’ve begun accidentally nesting with, then-“

            “I didn’t!” John barks. “Bringing women here for a shag isn’t nesting!”

            “Then who nested? Did Hudders?”

            “No, well…I don’t think so.” John shakes his head. “Even if she did, the documents wouldn’t have our names on it.”

            “Where are the documents?”

            “In the parcel basket.”

            “And, where is that?”

            “Down in Mrs. H’s flat. And…so is the b-” John watches and Sherlock briskly turns and walks out of the living room, feet clambering down the stairs. As usual, John isn’t far behind him.

~*~

            Mrs. Hudson jumped when the men burst into her kitchen, Sherlock striding elegantly, but pointedly. John gave an apologetic look to the startled woman while Sherlock stared at the parcel on the table.

            “Where is the baby?” John asked Mrs. Hudson. For some reason, the question came out automatically. Was he already so concerned? He didn’t really…want to be. But, it was a baby…and it _was_ his.

            “He’s sleeping in the-“ Mrs. Hudson is cut off by Sherlock’s puzzlingly colored eyes flickering up to her, sharp as daggers.

            “You said _he_?” Sherlock asks as he runs his finger tips over the cool brass handle of the parcel basket.

            “Yes, um, we have a son.” John clears his throat, glancing at Sherlock before turning to face Mrs. Hudson again. “So, you said the baby is where?”

            “Oh, he’s resting up in the bedroom.” She smiles and dries her hands on a towel. “I’ve got him all nice and snug, would you like to see him?”

            John looked over at Sherlock again. Neither of them had really taken a good look at the baby. Sherlock hadn’t seen the infant at all, and John had never looked at him up close. Never even held him. And, if he was going to, he’d like Sherlock to be with him when it happened. But, Sherlock busy was looking over the parcel’s scroll.

            “There’s something missing here.” Sherlock speaks up as Mrs. Hudson and John make their way out of the kitchen, stopping them. “This isn’t all of  the standard information. Someone has tampered with this parcel…well, maybe someone has.” Sherlock stares at John, face clouded with seriousness. “For all we know, that baby might not even be _ours_. This could all be a hoax.”

            “So…what would be the point of that?” John frowns. “Oh, _‘Ha bloody ha, Sherlock and John! I gave you a life time commitment! Joke’s on you!_ ’ or something?”

            “I’m not sure who would do this or why, but we can’t just accept a baby we didn’t ask for.” Sherlock sets the scroll back in the parcel. “Where is he?” His eyes are again sharply on Mrs. Hudson.

            “He’s just in my bedroom.” She says. “I put lots pillows on either side of him so he couldn’t roll off the bed, not that newborns roll.”

            “We need to get him tested.” Sherlock hustles past the other two, towards Mrs. Hudson’s bedroom.

            “Tested?” John repeats, following the detective.

            “DNA tested, see if he truly is ours.” Sherlock opens the bedroom door, stopping abruptly enough that John bumps into the back of him, making the younger man stumble forward at the impact. “Careful, John.”

            “Sorry…” The doctor wishes to peek over Sherlock’s shoulder, to see why he stopped. But, he’s too short, so he peeks around Sherlock’s side instead. He sees the baby, nestled on the bed, surrounded by a border or pillows. The baby is silently sleeping, small chest rising and falling as he sleeps. “Why’ve you stopped?”

            “Why’s it so small, John?” Sherlock’s keeping his voice quiet, whispering.

            “According the scroll, he’s pretty average weight.” John replies. “For his length, I think he’s a bit on the smaller side.”

            “So, he will be short like you?”

            “His size now doesn’t really indicate what his size will be later on…but, he _might_ be short like me.” John pauses. “Would you…dislike that?”

            “There’s no reason to like or dislike it.” Sherlock steps forward, further enough into the room that John and Mrs. Hudson can enter the bedroom as well. The curly haired man blinks at the infant. “What happens if I pick him up, will he scream?”

            “He might.” Mrs. Hudson answers. “So far, he’s been a bit fussy. But, then again, he might know that I’m not his either of his daddies.”

            “How would he know the difference?” Sherlock frowns at her as if she’s being completely ridiculous. “He knows nothing.” With hesitant hands, he reaches out and-

            “Hold on!” John catches him by the sleeve, speaking loudly enough to startle the detective and to cause the baby to stir. “You’ve just come back from a crime scene…”

            “Yes, so?” Sherlock jerks his sleeve away from John’s grasp.

            “Well…how clean are you?”

            “What?”

            “Are you covered in…dead thing germs or…?” John watches as the baby continues to try and resettle himself.

            “No…I haven’t wallowed in the dead. There wasn’t even a body, John. You went to the crime scene with me last night.” Sherlock turned to fold his arms and scowl at John. “I just want to pick him up, put him into the parcel basket.”

            “Why do you want to put him back in the basket?” John arches a brow.

            “To take him to get tested, John! Don’t you listen? _Ever_?”

            Sherlock’s exclaiming has the baby startled again, and this time, the infant didn’t try and resettle on his own, he began to cry in upset. The brunette man cast the child a similar scowl that he was giving John.

            “If he is to stay, he must get used to loud noises.” Sherlock holds up a hand to stop John from approaching the baby. “Let him be.”

            “Oh, for god’s sake.” John moved past Sherlock, and over to the infant. He was unsure of how to really go about picking him up, though. He didn’t know how to support the baby’s head while simultaneously picking up its body. While the baby cried, and Sherlock complained and John stared at the baby cluelessly, Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes and walked over to the baby, picking him up and cradling him effortlessly.

            “You two have absolutely _no idea_ what you’re doing, do you?” She asks, watching as the baby stops crying almost instantly, but refuses to settle, arms and feet moving as if he was throwing a tantrum. Sherlock stops rambling when she makes that comment, and he gives his scowl to her next, now having giving it to everybody.

            “Why on _Earth_ would I know how to handle an _infant_?” Sherlock spat, folding his arms immaturely, turning away to hide his pout. “I never had to know before, why should I now?”

            “Because, we _have_ one, Sherlock.” John eyes the baby, who still seems pretty frustrated.

            “He can tell that you two are upset, I think.” Mrs. Hudson gives the baby a gentle rock in attempt to soothe him. With the way that Sherlock was acting, he looked as though he could use a good rocking as well. John wiped his hands over his face.

            “This is too much.” John says. “We can’t do this, Sherlock.”

            The younger man turns to John quickly, eyes wide.

            “What do you mean?” Sherlock asks in complete shock, as though John was speaking nonsense.

            “Why do you look so stunned? Do you honestly think you and I can parent together? It’s been five minutes and both you and he are throwing tantrums and I’m already stressed out from having no idea how to even _pick him up_.” The doctor is rubbing either side of his temple with the pads of his fingertips. Sherlock’s look of shock softens and melts into a shyer expression.

            “John…” Sherlock is speaking in a shrunken voice again. “I know that…I’m clueless about babies, and you are as well, when it comes to certain things about them. But, I know that it’s common for new parents to not know what they’re doing.”

            “Be that as it may, most new parents at least have nested and done enough research to-“

            “ _Oh_ , so what.” Sherlock waves a hand. “We haven’t nested. All that means is that we haven’t prepared a nursery.”

            “Exactly! Which means we have _nothing_.” John shakes his head. “ _Knowing_ nothing is one thing, but _having_ nothing on top of that…that’s too much.”

            “You’d be willing to give our baby up because you’re too lazy to learn a thing or two?” Sherlock is scowling again. “You want to give him up because we haven’t taken the time to throw a cot into the corner somewhere? That’s hardly an issue.”

            “So, you’re scolding me for wanting to give him away?” John stops rubbing his temple and instead looks up at Sherlock in surprise.

            “Yes, I am.” Sherlock nods.

            “And…that means you _want_ this baby?” John motions to the newborn who’s now a bit less upset than before, and still being rocked in Mrs. Hudson’s arms. Sherlock looks at the infant as well.

            “No, I don’t want him.” Sherlock states, and both Mrs. Hudson and John are confused and quiet. “Why would I want him?”

            “Then…why the f—“ John stops himself from cursing, giving a glance to the baby. “Why the…heck, are you insisting that we keep him?”

            “I don’t like giving up and quitting on _anything_ , John.” Sherlock clears his throat. “And, well, if the baby _is_ ours…I really wouldn’t want to quit on it. My parents were…good, and I’m the one who quit on them a while ago and I regret it so much. But, I couldn’t imagine how it’d feel the other way around…if they had quit on me.”

            John isn’t sure what to say, but he feels guilty for even considering giving the child up now. But, he still doubts that they can do this.

            “But, Sherlock…” John begins. “I talked to Mycroft and-“

            “You did?” Sherlock’s eyes are wide again.

            “Yes, I did…and he said that babies are just distractions. That, all they do is disturb the lives of the people they are given to. And, that your brain will rot and that you’ll be spending your life wrist deep in crap and-“

            “Word of advice, John,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Never let my brother persuade you, into _anything_.”

            “But, he’s not wrong.”

            “No, he’s not.” Sherlock hates it, but he has to agree with his brother to some degree. “The baby will disturb our lives. And, he will be a distraction from most things.”

            “But, your brain and…the nappies…”

            “I have my wrists deep in dead bodies at times, John.” Sherlock reminds him. “At least changing my son’s nappy would be easier and less creepy to off handedly mention to someone that I do.”

            John can’t help but chuckle at that comment. “I mean, alright, sure…but,” He looks up at Sherlock. “What about your brain?”

            “We’ll still do cases, you know.” Sherlock assures him. “We will need to do _more_ cases actually. You and I are going to need quite some money to provide for…”

            John raises a brow when Sherlock stops mid-sentence. “For…what?”

            “For _him_ , John.” Sherlock points to the swaddled infant. “He needs a name.”

            “Oh, you’re right…I hadn’t even thought about-“

            “Or…maybe he doesn’t need a name.” Sherlock muses and John can only furrow his brow.

            “Wait, what?” The older man laughs in disbelief. “Of _course_ he does!”

            “What if he doesn’t like the name we give him?” Sherlock frowns in concern. “Why can’t he name himself?”

            “Because…he can’t talk, and hasn’t heard any names to pick from as of yet. Besides ours.” John feels silly for having to explain something so simple to Sherlock.

            “Yes, I’m aware of that…but, my mother gave me the silly name _William_.”

            “It’s not that silly.” John shrugs.

            “And…a nickname for Will, is Bill.”

            “…Ok?”

            “A nickname for Bill, is Billy…”

            “Still not really following, but alright?”

            “And, we all know what Billy rhymes with…” Sherlock leaves John to his deductions.

            “Wait…you’re nervous about naming our kid because you got named something that just so happens to have a nickname that rhymes with wi-“

            “Don’t say it, John!”

            “Sorry!”

            “God’s sake, what the hell is the point of telling you anything if you’re going to shout it to the heavens?” Sherlock is scowling again.

            “I wasn’t even shouting it!”

            “You’re shouting _now_!”

            “Anyway,” John folds his arms. “So, you got picked on when you were little, I’m gathering?”

            “Attempted to go to a summer science program with _other children_ ,” Sherlock sighs. “Mycroft was bored because the program taught him nothing that he didn’t know. I spent the entire day hiding away from bullies who wanted to attack me because I was _weird_ and then, they’d taken to calling me wil—anyway, yes.” Sherlock looks at the baby. “I don’t want to name him something easily mockable.”

            “We’ll pick out a good name then.” John shrugs. “That doesn’t mean that we’re just going to leave him nameless.”

            “I still don’t want to name him. If anything, _you_ name him.” Sherlock points to John. “That way, I can’t be held responsible when he hates it.”

            “You’re not even going to give me suggestions?”

            “Not ‘William’.” Sherlock turns to Mrs. Hudson. “Might I take him? We need to harvest a bit of his DNA.”

            “Ugh, don’t say it like that.” John scrunches up his face. “We’re not _harvesting_ anything from him…”

            “But, we are…” Sherlock is unsure as to why John is behaving like this.

            “We’re just…um…” John isn’t sure how to word it better.

            “Extracting?” Sherlock offers.

            “How about I extract myself from this conversation, hm?” John opens his arms for the baby. “I’ll take him, Mrs. Hudson.”

            “No, I will.” Sherlock pushes himself in front of John.

            “Why can’t I?” John frowns at Sherlock.

            “Yes, why can’t you?” Sherlock frowns back.

            “Boys,” Mrs. Hudson frowns at them both. So far, there’s been lots of frowning caused by such a small person. “Parents are _teams_ , you have to work together or this won’t work.” She glares at them until they stop glaring at each other. “Worry about names, later. You don’t have to fill out his official legal documents fully for an entire week. So, let the name rest. But, what he _does_ need, are two non-shouting parents, nappies, bottles, dummies, a cot and some clothes…for starters.”

            “What else could he possibly needs besides all of that?” Sherlock groans.

            “Swaddling blankets, possibly mittens so he doesn’t scratch his face or eyes, baby wash cloths, burp-cloths, a thermometer and – oh, he’ll need nappy cream to go with the nappies. He’ll need-“

            “Impossible, inefficient, unnecessary.” Sherlock declares. “No one _that_ _small_ could need all of that.”

            “You’d be surprised.” Mrs. Hudson shrugs.

            “I really couldn’t, because that’s absurd.” Sherlock motions to him. “All he needs is food and nappies to collect his waste. There is no reason at all that he’d need a hundred things to survive.”

            “She’s sort of right, Sherlock.” John cuts in. “At the hospital, though I don’t work with the babies, I do know that the hospital gives many of those items to the new families as a parting gift. Babies need quite a bit of things.”

            “People raise children in other countries with much less and they grow up _fine_.” Sherlock waves a hand. “I’m telling you all, he doesn’t need much. We’ll just be wasting time and money.”

            Mrs. Hudson and John just look at each other and share a sigh.

            “Sigh all you want, but I am right.” Sherlock outstretches his arms again. “Now, for god’s sake, let me hold my son.” His tone isn’t quite _pleading_ , but the seriousness in the tone is undeniable.  Mrs. Hudson glanced at John, who only nodded.

            “Cradle your arms.” Mrs. Hudson instructed the detective, who followed the order without complaining. Slowly, she places the baby into his arms. Both she and John are surprised to hear the soft gasp that Sherlock gives once he’s finally holding the infant.

            “Take it back, _now_.” Sherlock offers the newborn back to her.

            “No.” John says firmly, stepping forward and standing beside Sherlock. “You’ve got him.”

            “I know _that_.” Sherlock’s retort doesn’t have its usual bite. “Take him, please.”

            “It’s alright, Sherlock.” John can tell that Sherlock is afraid, he puts a hand on the small of the younger man’s back. “You won’t hurt him.”

            “He’s just so – why is he so…” Sherlock can’t take his eyes off of the baby. “So small.”

            “I know,” John agrees, peering down at their son, finally not afraid to look at him. “He is quite tiny.”

            “I want you to hold him, John.” Sherlock turns to face John, ready to hand the baby over. However, at the same time, Sherlock felt a bit unwilling to let him go. But, Sherlock can tell that John is now ready to hold the baby as well, so Sherlock hands him over to John.

            “My god…” John says as his arms are suddenly full of the tiny human being. Again, John marvels at the baby’s nearly identical face to Sherlock’s. “He looks…so much like you.”

            Sherlock furrows his brow. “He just…looks like a baby.”

            “Like you.” John repeats, walking back over to the bed and sitting down on it. Sherlock stands like a statue for a moment, before going over to sit with John. Mrs. Hudson takes this as a chance to leave the room, and let the new parents have a moment.

            John held the baby in his arms, still entirely unable to look away. The baby wasn’t sleeping, his blue eyes opened and closed for brief intervals every so often. Even the small action was remarkable to his awed parents.

            The older male watched as one of Sherlock’s large hands reached over, and plucked the hat from the newborn’s head gently. This revealed a head of thick dark hair, not much of it, but there it was. Sherlock’s fingers brushed over the silky new strands.

            “John…” Sherlock spoke softly, still quite entranced by their baby.

            “Yes?”

            “We…really need to get him tested out…”

            “He looks just like you, there is no way he’s not yours.”

            “But, I want to know that he is _ours_.” Sherlock insists. “And, I want to know that he’s healthy, and that’s he ok. He was a random unintentional delivery. There could be a large number of things that we don’t know of his state, that we should probably need to know. As I showed you, he is missing some of his documentation.”

            John couldn’t disagree, especially not as a doctor. Sherlock took John’s silence as an agreement.

            “Right, then it’s settled.” Sherlock confirmed for the both of them. “Molly should be at Bart’s right about now and-“

            “Wait, _Molly_?” John frowns. “She’s not a pediatrician.”

            “Yes, but she knows her stuff and she knows us.”

            “That doesn’t mean…” The doctor shakes his head. “No, Sherlock. We can’t just take our misplaced parcel baby to anyone.”

            “Why not?”

            “If we’re going to get him tested, I want it to be by a person who knows _babies_.”

            “Molly might know babies, how do you know that she doesn’t?”

            “Sherlock…” John would be rubbing his temple again if he wasn’t holding the baby. “Is this entire experience with you going to be annoying?”

            “Why?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Would you leave me and take the baby with you if it was?”

            John froze, staring off into space, holding the baby tighter than before. Sherlock realizes that what he’s said must’ve been…a bit not good. He clears his throat.

            “Erm, apologies, John.” Sherlock looks away, eyeing the various perfume bottles on Mrs. Hudon’s dresser. He busied himself with deducing which perfumes were gifts, and which she’d bought herself. Hm, interesting. The bottle on the far right seems to be a gift from her late husband, the one death sentenced in Florida. She’s kept it still, sentiment.

            “Sherlock…” John finally remembers how to blink. “Look…”

            The detective waits to hear what John has to say, but the doctor doesn’t say anything.

            “No, I meant ‘look at _me_ ’.” John waits until Sherlock turns his head, and they meet eyes. “Can you see me?”

            “What?” Sherlock frowns. “Yes, of course I can see you.”

            “Now, look at our son.” John holds the infant up a bit more, ‘displaying’ him. The detective’s eyes linger on the still brand-new baby, resting in his flatmate’s arms. “Can you see him as well?”

            “Yes.”

            “Good, because I see him too…and I see you also.”

            “Glad you’re not blind, John.”

            “This isn’t time to be a smart…bum.”

            Sherlock snorts at John’s attempt not to curse in front of the baby.

            “Anyway,” John chuckles breathily at himself. “Sherlock, I’m going to be completely honest with you…I never in a million years planned to be a father. The idea always scared me, because my dad was rubbish, and I didn’t want to let someone down the way hat he let _me_ down.”

            Sherlock only continued to listen.

            “But,” John continues. “I also never planned to move in with the world’s _only_ Consulting Detective. And, surely if I’d ever found myself moving in with him, I would have never planned to go on cases _with him_. But…I enjoy living with you and solving crimes with you, more than I love anything else in the world.”

            The detective feels unsteady in his stomach, and his eyes feel like they’re prickling up. It must be because he hasn’t blinked the entire time that John’s been speaking; surely he wasn’t going to cry.

            “Be that as it may, I must inform you that I _love_ plans.” John flashes a grin. “I love knowing what’s going to happen next. Growing up, I never knew if I was going to come home to my drunken father being verbally or…otherwise abusive to my sister or mum. I didn’t know if I’d come home to my mum crying alone at the kitchen table, because my dad had bloody walked out again.” The doctor looks saddened. “Or…come home to Harry having to be taken to the A &E for getting drunk and into a wreck, or stumbling off and down a flight of stairs…from drunkenness as well.”

            Sherlock is looking at his hands in his lap, unable to look John in the face now.

            “Uni was nice, because there was structure.” John looks down at the baby as he begins to stir. “Same with the military. Training days had schedules, structure. But…then the war and…there goes all of that structure. And, back came all of the fear of the unkown. Is my mate going to come back tonight? Or will he end up dead? Will I end up dead? Will we all? Will I ever get back home? And…if I did end up back ‘home’, well, where the bloody hell would that be? I had no home. The war _was_ my home then.” John shakes his head. “Just as loud and violent as my old home was, back with my parents and Harry.”

            “John-“

            “What I’m trying to say is, Sherlock…” John takes a deep breath. “You’ve helped me stop fearing the unknown again. You…with you, I haven’t really needed a _schedule_ because you’ve given me my structure. You are my structure. A thin, curly haired structure with impulsive behaviour and poor eating habits, sure.” John is laughing again. “But, you’re my best friend, and I can never imagine myself anywhere else, than…well, other than wherever you might be. And, hopefully that would be in this flat.”

            “But, John-“

            “Let me finish, I’m almost done.”

            “Ok.” Sherlock quiets himself.

            “Where was I?” John thinks. “Oh, yeah. Sherlock, as I said, I never wanted children. But, all of the best adventures _ever_ , I’ve had with you. So, if I were to have a child, it makes all the damn sense in the world that it’s with you.”

            Sherlock’s heart is…shutting down, or overworking it feels like.

            “So, I don’t want to leave you…and take the baby with me.” John rolls his eyes. “No matter how bleeding frustrating this is going to be, I’d never want to do this on my own…without you. We’re going to do another unplanned thing together, and it’s going to be amazing…I can feel it. This is just another adventure for us, isn’t it?”

            The detective nods his curly head enthusiastically, because he’s been reassured.

            “Besides,” John smirks. “Everything I do with you is frustrating, anyway. Why would child raising be any different? Now I’ve got two of you.” He looks down at the baby again. “Also, sorry for swearing. Papa tried.”

            “ _Papa_?” Sherlock repeats. “Why not ‘Daddy’?”

            “I…never called my father ‘daddy’.”

            “Not even when you were little?”

            “No…it was always ‘Dad’, unless I wanted to be kinder…I’d throw in a Papa.”

            “Well, our son will be very kind to you.” Sherlock insists. “I’ll be sure of it. Guess that leaves me with ‘Daddy’ then.”

            “Unless you want to be the kind of dad that makes their kid call them ‘Father’.” John shrugs.

            “Ugh, no.” Sherlock shakes his head. “That would bother me…I think.”

            “Alright then,” John nods. “I’ll be Papa, you’ll be Daddy.” He confirms.

            “Indeed.”

            “And…he’ll be?” John nods at the baby.

            “I told you that you were naming him.” Sherlock picks the small yellow hat he’d removed from the baby’s head, and replaces it over his sparse, dark hair.

            “I thought I’d catch you off guard after being so kind, and you’d slip up and help me name our son, god forbid. My apologies.”

            “Git.” Sherlock grins, dimples and teeth and all. “So, um…his tests, then?”

            “Sherlock, he’s barely two days old…”

            “No, I mean the-“

            “Ohhh…”

            “Yeah.” Sherlock nods.

            “Maybe tomorrow?” John looks at the clock, hanging above Mrs. Hudson’s bed. “It’s kind of late afternoon.”

            “So?”

            “I’d rather spend time getting things that he needs and-“

            “But, what if he’s not ours? What if he’s not well?” Sherlock asks very valid questions.

            “If…he wasn’t ours…would you…?” John feels his mouth go dry at what he’s about to ask. “Would you want to give him up for adoption?”

            Sherlock isn’t sure if he could bare it. So recently just arrived, and Sherlock is completely intrigued by this small person. He’s…cute, by modern day definitions. And, if he was brought to the two of them, there has to be a reason behind it.

            “I’m not sure, John…if I could…”

            “Me neither.”

            “Good, then…we’re parents, yeah?” Sherlock tries not to smile when he says this.

            “Unless he belongs to someone else, and we have to give him back.”

            Sherlock frowns. “The parcel documents say he’s ours, so that’s just too bad for them.”

            “Hey, that’s not fair.” John points to Sherlock, cradling the baby in one arm. “We’d have to do the right thing…and give him to his actual parents, should he not be ours.”

            “But-“

            “However, if…you do want to have a baby with me…” John blushes, because this isn’t something that flatmates say to each other. “Then, we could nest together. And, ya know…turn one of the bedrooms into a nursery. Or…a section of the living room into one, if you don’t want to share a room.”

            “Y-You’d…nest with me?” Sherlock’s eyes widen.

            “If…it’s something you’d like, yes.” John nods, smiling at Sherlock warmly. “Never thought it would be something I’d want, especially not with you, but-“

            John is cut off by Sherlock propelling himself forward, and wrapping his arms around the older male. The doctor is careful not to drop the baby in surprise, and it takes a minute for him to realize what’s happening. He and Sherlock didn’t really hug, but…right now, it felt right and it felt safe. With their son in one arm, John wraps his other around Sherlock, holding him tightly. He feels Sherlock let out of breath against his skin.

            “Thank you, John.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm laughing, because if John and Sherlock keep this baby, then they'll have to create a nursery for him (which is called nesting in this AU). And, I'm wondering if when they DO actually nest for THIS baby, would the stork think they're nesting in hopes of receiving a baby? Then the stork would bring them another one to go in the nest, not knowing that they've already been brought one. Then, they'd have two babies xD  
> (Do you understand what I'm trying to say? If you do understand what I'm saying, A+ for you!)
> 
> The stork bringing them another baby probably won't happen, but oh my gosh. I'm just laughing, thinking about what their reactions would be. 
> 
> Ok, bye <3


	3. Just to be Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John only sighs. “Let’s just drop it.”
> 
> “Drop what?”
> 
> “Exactly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> I'm back again with another chapter of this.  
> Really though, I'm excited for the chapter coming up after this one!  
> So, if you're enjoying the story so far, I hope you can stick around for it! :)
> 
> That's all (^_^)"/"
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> ~TJL

“John...”

“It’s ok, you’ve got him.”

“J-John....I really don’t-”

“Don’t be afraid, this is your son.” John sits down on the sofa in Mrs. Hudson’s flat beside Sherlock. “You can hold him, and you can feed him.”

Sherlock has the baby in his lap, supporting the infant’s head with one of his large hands. With his other hand, Sherlock is holding the baby’s bottle. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing.” Sherlock admits. “What if he chokes?”

“You’re holding him, he’s fine.” John smiles reassuringly at Sherlock. “Babies are born, programmed knowing how to nurse.”

“Are you...positive?” Sherlock watches as the bottle slowly is beginning to be drained by the newborn. 

“See?” John points to the bottle. “He’s doing just fine.”

“I just don’t understand why you can’t stay here with me while I do this.”

“I’ve already told you,” John rises from the couch. “I just have to go check my email. I’ll be back in time to burp him, so that you won’t have to.”

“...Alright.” Sherlock looks away as John leaves the room, and this makes John feel a bit bad for lying. He wasn’t going to check his email. He...was going to go call Mycroft. 

~*~

Sherlock had looked away from John, but his eyes move to follow John’s figure until the older man was out of sight, and out of Mrs. Hudson’s flat. Then, he let his eyes fall on the baby. John had fit the infant’s hat back onto his head, again hiding his dark hair. His large blue eyes were fixed on Sherlock, returning the detective’s stare.

“You’re far more alert than most babies are meant to be, I believe.” Sherlock says, to fill the silence. “You’ve must already got a good brain on you, then.” The baby is pleased just to hear Sherlock’s voice, or so Sherlock thinks. So, he continues talking. “You’re fresh, not quite a goldfish and with my assistance, you shan’t become one. I’m going to start you with the periodic table.” 

Sherlock waits for the baby to give some sign that he’s absorbing the man’s words. Though, the baby only blinks, and Sherlock allows his brow to crease. “Right…anyway,” Sherlock twists the bottle slightly to fix the baby’s latch on the bottle’s nipple. John had instructed him on what a ‘proper latch’ looks like, and the baby had lost that good latch for a second. “The periodic table is a tabular arrangement of the chemical elements.” He says. “It’s organized on the basis of their atomic number electron configurations, and recurring chemical properties.”

The baby’s eyes began to droop, and really, anyone’s would start to at this point. Still, that didn’t deter Sherlock from explaining this to his small son.

“The atomic number lets us know the quantity of protons in the nucleus.” Sherlock continues his explanation of this ‘basic’ table. “Everything is made up of  _something_ , understand? The periodic table helps us know what those ‘somethings’ are more or less. Though, we could take it even  _further_. But, maybe after your first birthday, when your brain isn’t so infantile.”

Poor Sherlock clearly isn’t taking into account that a year old child is still not old enough to firmly grasp atomic make up. Sherlock isn’t sure what else to tell his son, so he thinks of what John might tell him.

“Um…your Papa says he’ll be back in time to burp you.” Sherlock informs the baby. “He’s just off to ‘check him email’.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t buy that.”

The baby’s eyes open, and Sherlock takes that as a request to elaborate.

“Well, you see, I broke Papa’s phone not too long ago. Therefore, he can’t check his emails on it, as he’s yet to link his email to the new mobile.” Sherlock sighs. “Personally, I believe that he should’ve done it by now. It’s been two weeks.” His clears his throat. “You know, John thinks that I did it on  _purpose_ , but it was truly meant to be an experiment on the effect that acid has on – anyway, so I pretty much destroyed the thing.”

The baby continues to suckle from the bottle, watching as Sherlock speaks.

“Mycroft purchased John a new, and  _nicer_ I might add, mobile phone.” Sherlock’s eyes roll again. “Because he needed a way to keep track of John, and thus keep track of me. Also, John always answered Mycroft’s attempt to communicate with him. I don’t always, so Mycroft finds John to be more reliable.”

The bottle is nearly empty now.

“By the way, Mycroft is my brother.” Sherlock informs the child. “Your uncle.” He pauses. “I don’t really care for him, but I suppose you might. Truthfully, I was pretty fond of him as a child as well. Don’t believe everything he says though, he likes to tell stories.”

Speaking of Mycroft, John had mentioned that he’d spoken with the older Holmes brother earlier. When Sherlock… _wasn’t there_  yet. What if he went upstairs to…? What on Earth could John need to speak with Mycroft with  _now_?

“Oh, John.” Sherlock sighs, then looks down at the baby in his lap. “Shall we go scold Papa in a little while?”

~*~

Mycroft answered John’s call chuckling, though not speaking. John didn’t say anything either.

“Believe it or not,” John finally speaks up. “I didn’t call to listen to you laugh for an hour.”

“Sorry, I was just remembering a joke I heard once.”

“Right, well-”

“Has Sherlock seen the child?” Mycroft finally talking normally, instead of with the out of character mirth that he’d just presented John with.

“Yes, Sherlock is feeding him now.”

“ _Feeding him_?” Mycroft repeats, then sighs. “I suppose that means I must say goodbye to my little brother.”

“You really are just as dramatic as he can be.” John sighs as well. “Just because Sherlock is taking on...reasonably well to this sudden change....it doesn’t mean that you’ve  _lost_  him. There is no reason to say goodbye.”

“He’s taking it well?” Mycroft sounds surprised. 

“Very well, actually.” John nods. “He is...a bit afraid to hold the baby it seems. Other than that, Sherlock just seems rather fascinated by him. And, I can’t blame him. The baby is really, um, interesting.”

Mycroft lets all of that sink in before he speaks again. “Well,  _lovely_.” It sounds sarcastic. “Best of luck with your new lives, then. I’ll be sure to add the boy down as an heir, what’s his name?”

“He’s not got one yet....and, heir to what?”

“For god’s sake,  _name_  the child.”

“I said not  _yet_ , that implies that we obviously intend to name him.” John retorts. “Sherlock just doesn’t want to partake in naming him, so it’s going to take me a while to find a good name. I haven’t really given it proper thought yet.” 

“Well, please do consider giving it some ‘proper thought’.”

“You didn’t answer my question about the ‘heir’ thing...”

“He is a Holmes,” Mycroft didn’t feel like he had to explain this. “When my brother and I ‘rest our souls’, he will be left to...look after some things.”

 _Oh_. John thinks. “I see.”

“Do you really?”

“Not at all, no.” John shakes his head, but that wasn’t important right now. “That’s not really why I called, by the way.”

“Yes, I  _was_  wondering about that.” Mycroft folds one leg over his other. “You don’t usually call me. So, once today was nice. However, calling  _again_ , well...this is just another pleasant...surprise.”

“I was calling, because...you mentioned that you would have sent us a token, if you’d known the baby was coming.”

“I did say that, yes.”

“Is it too late for a token to be sent?”

“There’s something that you need, I’m gathering?” Mycroft props his chin up on his palm, fingertips tapping over his cheekbone. 

“Well, we didn’t know the baby was coming either.” John reminds him. “So, we don’t have  _anything_. And, whatever your token would be, it’d be nice to have I’m sure.”

“What exactly do you  _need_ , Dr. Watson?”

“Huh?”

“Supplying things you’d need wouldn’t be a problem. However...”

“However?”

“My brother would be much too proud to accept anything from me to begin with.”

John rolls his eyes. “I don’t care about his pride right now.” He says. “We have a  _baby_. What we can get, is what we need. What the  _baby_  needs.”

Mycroft is amused by John’s insistence, but he doesn’t say as much. 

“If you’re sure, then.” Mycroft clears his throat. “Do you need a cot?”

“Yes.”

“Changing table?”

“Optional, I think...but it’d be nice.” John replies. 

“And...general supplies like nappies, clothing, bottles-”

“I think that Sherlock and I could get those things on our own.” John won’t admit that it was now  _his pride_  is what’s not allowing him to accept those things. The doctor wants to supply  _most things_  for the baby, as its parent. Though, a good cot? Like...a  _really_  good cot. That was a bit out of budget and would be a nice gift from Sherlock’s (wealthy) brother.

“Just furniture items from me, then.” Mycroft nods, taking down the mental note. “Right, I’ll have them sent over by tonight.” 

“What? So soon?” John’s jaw falls open. “That’s really not necessary.”

“I wanted to gift you two with a token.” Mycroft informs John. “This is my token.”

“Well, then....thank you.”

“In which room will these furniture items be going?”

Again, John sighs. “It can just be dropped off in the living room.”

“Why?”

“Both bedrooms are still occupied. We’ve not...” John rolls his eyes again. “Mycroft,  _listen to me_ : we haven’t prepared  _ **anything**_. Ok? So, there’s no set place to put the baby’s things.”

“Alright, alright.” Mycroft doesn’t like being talked to like this. “You don’t have a preference for the colour of the furniture, do you?”

“God, no.”

“Good.” Mycroft pauses for a moment. “Anything else you might need?”

“No, that’s-” John stops short when he remembers something. “Do you...have someone who could do a DNA test, and give the baby a quick look over?”

“...What?”

“Well, the parcel seems to have been tampered with, prior to reaching us...?” John shrugs. “The basket is missing some important documentation and...Sherlock...and I, have a bit of doubt as to whether or not the baby is...ours? And, we want to make sure he’s healthy and well too.”

“Oh...”

“Yeah.”

“In that case, I’ll be coming by as well, along with the furniture delivery.”

“Mycroft,” John says. “You don’t have to-”

“I  _will_  be coming.” Mycroft declares. “I want to observe the DNA testing. I’d also like to see the baby for myself.”

“I see.”

“Is that alright?”

“It’s fine, yeah.” John feels a flood of relief rush over him. “Thank you, Mycroft.”

“Of course.” The older man breathes. “Though...I detest babies, this one is a Holmes. So, maybe he won’t be as bad.”

“Maybe.” John laughs, but it’s cut short when he hears steady feet moving up the stairs. “Gotta go, see you later.” 

“Goodbye, John.” Mycroft hangs up, John shoves his phone into his pocket. 

~*~

John’s phone is put away, just in time as Sherlock comes into their flat, holding the baby in cradled arms. 

“Hello.” John gives Sherlock a friendly greeting. However, the detective just glares at John. “What?”

“You abandoned  _us_.” Sherlock says, looking down at the baby after he says it. “Papa just left us downstairs, and  _never_  came back.” His voice is emphasizing the words dramatically, animatedly as Sherlock speaks to their son.

 _It’s so fatherly, so cute. I could die._ The thought burst through John’s head though he doesn’t want it to. “I didn’t abandon you two.”

“You said that you would be back in time to burp him.” Sherlock eyes John, who is sitting at their shared desk, in front of his laptop. “He finished the bottle quickly, he was very hungry.”

“Oh...does he still need to be burped?”

“In my opinion,  _no_.” Sherlock sits down on the sofa with the child. “Anyone should be able to pass their own wind, I can pass my own.”

John both blushes and giggles immaturely at what Sherlock has just said. Because...it’s  _the_  Sherlock Holmes, talking about passing wind.

“He’s a baby, Sherlock.” John gets up from his seat at the desk to sit with his small family on the sofa. 

“So?”

“So, he needs help with everything.”

“Why are human young the most defenseless? The most helpless.” Sherlock is disappointed. 

“Hand him over, give me the cloth as well.” John cradles his arms, and allows Sherlock to transfer the cloth first, then the baby. Sherlock drapes the burp-cloth over John’s shoulder, as he’s read to do on Parenting-blogs, while he was waiting for John to return. Next, Sherlock gives John the baby. “Right, now...I’ve seen people do this in the hospital...”

“You can hold him seated up in your lap, and let him lean forward over your one hand...while you pat his back.” Sherlock says. “Or, you can position his head over your shoulder.”

“How on  _Earth_  do you know?”

“Research, John.” Sherlock explains in his ‘obvious, John’ voice. He’d read up on burping babies while he waited for John to come back down (three minutes of waiting in total).

Sherlock helps to reposition the cloth on John’s shoulder once the baby is rested against it. Once John has begun patting the baby’s back, rubbing it in soft circles between every few pats, Sherlock speaks again. “I know that you were calling my brother again, when you came up here.”

John doesn’t say anything, just focuses on rubbing the baby’s back.

“And...I don’t mind, if you’ve asked him for help with something.” Sherlock looks away from John. “I would’ve liked it if you’d...we’d talked about it.”

The doctor snorts. “You wouldn’t have let me ask your brother for  _help_.”

“If you would have explained to me  _why_  you insisted on getting the help from  _him_ ,” Sherlock says the words as if they repulse him. “Then I would have…maybe gone along with it.”

“You want me to explain? Sure, I’ll explain. We’re a bit low on funds, Sherlock.” John states. “Which sucks for us because babies are expensive.”

“Yes.”

“So, I asked Mycroft to give us the token he had mentioned wanting to give us earlier.”

Sherlock processes that before replying. “And, this token will be?”

“Just a cot and a changing table.”

“ _Two_  tokens??”

“Maybe it’ll be a matching set, so it’ll be more like it’s just  _one_  token.”

“Absurd.” Sherlock frowns. “We could’ve gotten a cot on our own.”

“With what money?”

“We have money!”

“Not for a cot  _and_  a million of other things.”

“Absurd!” Sherlock raises his voice.

“ _Shhhh_!” John shushes him after feeling the baby startle a bit from the volume of Sherlock’s voice.

“Again,” Sherlock shifts his frown to the infant “He’s  _really_  going to have to get used to loud noises.”

John only sighs. “Let’s just drop it.”

“Drop what?”

“Exactly.” John says, and then the two men are quiet. Only sounds are John’s hand gently patting against the baby’s back. After a few minutes of patting, the baby finally lets a soft burp. “There.”

“All of that work for  _that_?” Sherlock frowns once again.

“I’ll keep going, just to be safe.”

“Why?”

“Babies can get incredibly cranky and uncomfortable if they’ve got gas,” John says. “And, one or two burps are good after feedings. So, I’ll keep going for a few moments. If he doesn’t burp, then I’ll let him be.”

Sherlock slumps back against the sofa, groaning towards the ceiling.

“What’s wrong now?” John arches a brow.

“Is this what we’ve been reduced to?” Sherlock sighs.

“What?”

“We’re sitting here talking about  _burps_.” Sherlock looks at John. “Burps, John!”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’ve never in my life been concerned about whether someone burps or not.” Sherlock points at the baby. “Now, I’m meant to actually be  _responsible_  for whether or not someone does it??”

John is silent for a moment, then he speaks. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you belch, Sherlock.”

The detective narrows his eyes at his flatmate. “I’m sorry?” His teeth are grit as he talks.

“Just saying,” John shrugs. “I’ve never heard you do it.”

“What’s your point?”

John smirks. “Dunno, maybe you’re not human.” He teases. “I’ve not witnessed any of those sorts of bodily functions from you.”

“You’re not  _supposed_  to!” Sherlock looks scandalized. “They’re to be  _private_!”

“Hm,” Is all John comments with.

“We are  _not_  discussing this further.” Sherlock rises from the sofa, and stands in the middle of their living room. “John.”

“Yes?”

“There’s a baby in our flat.”

“I’m holding him, I know.”

“An  _actual_   _baby_. John.”

“Yeah, it’s insane.”

“And, it’s  _our_  baby.”

John simply gives a laugh of disbelief. Sherlock does too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened to all the indents in the paragraphs? I uploaded this chapter as usual, but the format was like 'lol wut no' so, sorry about that!
> 
> ~TJL :)  
> technology, am I right?
> 
> PS, I'm literally so excited for the DNA test, and setting up the baby's 'room' and also naming him!  
> Ah, so excited. Ok, ignore me, sorry. Bye <3


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